Aftermath
by AriaxCantabile
Summary: POST SEASON 3: After the death of London's most belov'ed detective, the one he left behind mourns...She's been getting along well enough for everyday life, but as she visits his flat and memories begin to surface, some may turn to be more than just memories. SHERLOCKxOC/COMPLETE/R&R-CRITIQUE WELCOME/


"**Aftermath"****  
**_A Sherlock BBC One-shot_

_SherlockxOC_

* * *

_**AN: Hi everyone! This is an older one-shot I wrote back during the Season 2-Season 3 hiatus and I never really bothered to sort of work through the details of his return, etc, this is just a little setting I created for the purpose of my character. I hope you guys enjoy it :D R&R, please!  
-Aria**_

* * *

3 years.

Alexandria glanced around the dust covered flat, fighting tears.

It'd be 3 years today that…_Sherlock_…that damn selfish, arrogant, idiotic, detective….had left her.

1,095 days, one's normally spent with visits to the flat and grave; 525,948.766 stagnating minutes, normally spent crying or hiding away in her apartment; and 31,556,926 droning seconds that she and countless others were left to mourn over the loss of the detective. Time she could have had with him, time she could've had to help him-deduce him-just…be around him, experience who Sherlock Holmes actually was. But now she was alone. Granted, she did have a select few she still hung around; the always silent Molly (she stopped speaking after she found out about the detective's death), the clinically depressed John (who had to rely on his cane again. Not to mention the fact that he now had nightmares of the "fall", as they had named it), the heartless Mycroft (he never really came around anymore. She didn't blame him), and the D.I. Lestrade (now that…_Sherlock _had gone, he still needed someone to try and help with their cases. She tried her best, but after a few weeks, she decided to stop. That was_ his_ job, not hers).

The blue eyed brunette clenched her fists and followed the disruption of dust to the spot where…_Sherlock's_…chair once sat. Tears were becoming increasingly difficult to push away, but she still managed to hold them back. "You know, I don't blame you anymore." She whispered, taking a seat near the window. "I know it must've been hard for you, dealing with Moriarty and everything…"

She glanced towards his spot, expecting an answer. When none came, she just scoffed and pulled out her phone. Since the "Fall," Alexandria thought it would be a good idea to continue to text the detective. She never anticipated a response, of course, but it was just…things she could do to pass the time, things she could do to hold on to him-keep him close, even though he had long since gone. **"Good morning," "How are you feeling today?" "We miss you…"** Sometimes she'd even talk to him about her music, as suggested by her new therapist. **"I composed a new piece today." "I think you might like it." "I miss the sound of your violin. I think I might try my hand at learning how to play." **

Today was no different.

(Sent): **I'm at the flat again. -A  
** _Delivered: 11:25 p.m._

No reply.

(Sent): **I wish you were here, Sherlock. -A  
**_Delivered: 11:26 p.m._

Still Nothing.

(Sent): **I take back what I said before. I do blame you. –A  
**_Delivered: 11:29 p.m._

(Sent): **I'm sorry, Sherlock. I take that back as well. I don't blame you…I know you had a reason for what happened at Bart's. I apologize. Do you miss playing your violin? Do you miss the rain? The snow? It's beginning to get colder here in England…-A  
**_ Delivered: 11:30 p.m._

Change the subject, ask him questions, and don't cry.

(Sent):** I've composed a new violin Concerto, Sherlock. I even managed to create a few duets while you've been away. When do you think you'll be coming home? I'd love to perform them with you sometime…-A  
** _Delivered: 11:30 p.m._

Don't cry.

(Sent): (1 of 2)**I'll be visiting the grave tomorrow. It's been a few weeks since I've been there; I imagine you'd be angry with me now if you knew the state your bouquet was in. I tried to buy roses a few days ago, though. The florist was n**

(Sent): (2 of 2) **ice.** **Do you meet nice people where you are at? Anyway, she told me the roses you like weren't in season. Roses would really suit you, Sherlock. I'll wait for them. I know you like the white ones. When are you coming back? –A  
**_Delivered: 11:34 p.m._

Don't cry.

(Sent): **I miss you, Sherlock. I wish you could see some of the people walking around your street. They're so different. Do you miss deducing people? Or do you still deduce where you are now? -A  
**_Delivered: 11:35 p.m._

Fight it. Hold them back.

(Sent):**Do you miss us? Do you miss the flat? Why won't you come home already..? -A  
**_Delivered: 11:36 p.m._

(Sent):** Please come home, Sherlock. –A  
**_Delivered: 11:39 p.m._

(Sent):** Please? -A  
**_Delivered: 11:41 p.m._

It was no use. Those damned tears were already making their familiar trail down her cheeks. But she didn't care anymore. She didn't have to hold up that shield of strength, not here. When she was alone, when she was at 221b Baker Street, she could cry all she wanted. Mrs. Hudson was still the tenant, but she still kept the flat as it was, never renting it out for respect of the long lost genius; John never came by for visits, they only aggravated his memories of the detective; so she was alone, completely and totally. But that was enough, alone could sustain her, alone provided her comfort when no one else could.  
Alone, she was safe.

(Sent): (1 of 5) **Why can't you just admit to everyone that you are alive already? I know that couldn't have been you that jumped from Bart's, Sherlock. You are too full of yourself to commit suicide. Why**

(Sent): (2 of 5) **can't you just stop this stupidity? You're hurting me. You're hurting everyone, Sherlock. John…Can't you see what you've done to John?! He has to use his cane again! He has to take medication now, Sherlock, medication to keep the nightmares of you jumping from that blessed buildings out of his head! &**

(Sent): (3 of 5)** Molly! God, Sherlock, Molly won't even speak to us, anymore! Mycroft never leaves his home, I mean, for God's sake he's your bloody brother! Then there's the idiotic members of the Scotland yard…Just…Stop this! Come home! I…**

(Sent): (4 of 5)** I'm sorry Sherlock…I didn't mean that…I didn't mean to yell. Please…just, come back to all of us. It will be okay. Lestrade and the Scotland Yard are trying their best to clear your name, and I know that we **

(Sent): (5 of 5)** can get rid of Moriarty's web-I can help you, for God's sake. I know we can bring what's left of him down; we can all do it together. It can be like it was before…I won't yell at you even if you shoot the wall, or if you experiment around our food…just…you have to come back. You have to show us that you are alive, Sherlock. Please. Do this one thing, for me and everyone else; come home. –A  
**_Delivered: 11:49 p.m._

A bright light suddenly popped up on the brunette's phone.

1 new Text Message.

She glared at the screen. There was no possible way that could be who she thought it was.

**1 new Text Message: **_**Open or ignore?**_

Her heart was pounding furiously.

_**'CLICK' **_**Open**

Here goes nothing…

(Received): **Alexandria, is something wrong? I've been looking through the records on Sherlock's phone and you've been sending him a very alarming number of text messages these past few months.–MH  
**_Delivered: 11:58 p.m._

The brunette clenched her teeth, half tempted to throw the phone across the room. How dare Mycroft keep records of her texts, how dare he watch her, supervise her. Those texts were personal, only meant for the eyes of one person and one person only.

(Sent): **Mycroft, how in the hell did you find out about the texts? –A  
**_Delivered: 11:59 p.m._

(Received):** Well, you weren't exactly being discreet, Miss Clarkston. Now, answer my question, are you okay? –MH  
**_Delivered: 12:00 a.m._

(Sent):** I'm bloody fine. You failed to answer my question. How did you find out about the texts? –A  
**_Delivered: 12:02 a.m._

She was pissed now. He was deliberately avoiding her query, as per usual with Mycroft.

(Received): **You know I have my own methods, Alexandria. –MH  
**_Delivered: 12:03 a.m._

(Sent): **Mycroft, how did you find out about the messages? Answer me. Now.–A**_**  
**__Delivered: 12:05 p.m._

(Received):** I have a way in which I can access Sherlock's phone records, Alexandria. I am his brother, after all.–MH**_**  
**__Delivered: 12:05 a.m._

(Sent):** Why, then?–A**_**  
**__Delivered: 12:06 a.m._

(Received): **Curiosity, of course. –MH**_**  
**__Delivered: 12:09 a.m._

She laughed.

(Sent):** Mycroft, if you're going to lie to me at least do so believeably.–A**_**  
**__ Delivered: 12:10 p.m._

(Received):** I haven't lied to you, Miss Clarkston.–MH**_**  
**__ Delivered: 12:11 a.m._

(Sent): **I won't ask again, Mycroft. If you don't tell me, I'll find you and retrieve his phone myself.–A**_**  
**__Delivered: 12:12 a.m._

She was getting angry now.

(Received):** I do not have his phone. –MH**_**  
**__ Delivered: 12:15 a.m._

(Sent): **Don't lie to me. –A  
**_Delivered: 12:15 a.m._

(Received):** Again, I haven't lied to you, Alexandria. I do not have Sherlock's phone.–MH  
**_ Delivered: 12:17 a.m._

(Sent): **Stop this, you worthless git! I know you do! You have ways in which you can retrieve anything, including a simple electronic device! You just got his phone records?! Now, tell me where it is or I will find it myself!–A**_**  
**__Delivered: 12:18 a.m._

The enraged woman growled when she looked at the screen. How dare he say that to her. How DARE he. How could Mycroft NOT have the phone? He was practically the British Government itself; he has the rights to almost anything! Sherlock's phone was definitely an object he could have, does have, so why in the world would he hide it from her?

(Received):** I'm sending the paramedics. You are at the flat, correct? 221b Baker Street?–MH  
**_Delivered: 12:21 a.m._

(Sent):** Bloody hell, I'm FINE Mycroft! Just give me his mobile! That's all I'm asking for! –A**_**  
**__Delivered: 12:22 a.m._

She was beyond rage at this point.  
She wanted that phone. And she WOULD have it, one way or another.  
A loud siren suddenly began to ring from the street below. Alexandria scoffed and grabbed her purse, swinging it over her shoulder. There was more than one way to leave the flat…contrary to Mycroft's popular belief.

(Received): **Molly and Lestrade are on their way, Alexandria. –MH**_**  
**__Delivered: 12:22 a.m._

(Sent): **I'm leaving then, and I'm coming to find you. I know you have his phone, and I will take****it if need be.–A**_**  
**__Delivered: 12:24 p.m._

A loud bang suddenly came from the door. So they would break in and find her themselves, eh? The brunette rolled her eyes and slipped into the detective's old room. Sherlock had always had numerous methods in which he could escape from his flat, the secret passage in his room being one of them.

(Received):** There was never a phone, Alexandria. It was absent from the crime scene.–MH**_**  
**__Delivered: 12:25 a.m._

(Sent):** What do you mean?–A  
**_Delivered: 12:30 a.m._

She stared at the screen. What? She was sure Mycroft had it, if not him, then surely John or Molly. But then again, neither of the two had ever been seen with it, so….who had it?

(Received): **We searched Bart's, but we never could locate his mobile. Again, I assure you with the utmost confidence, I do not have it. –MH**_**  
**__Delivered: 12:32 a.m._

She wrapped her scarf around her neck as she stepped back into the crisp evening air. Mycroft didn't lie; the paramedics did show up at the flat. Lucky for her, though, that Sherlock had always been a step ahead of his brother. It was the method that he had used for accessing his Homeless Network, as a matter-of-fact. They would knock on the wall of the flat, a secret code–one unlike that of his clients and dealers, then appear here, in the neighboring alley, waiting for his instruction. Brilliant thinking on his part, really.

A loud buzzing sound suddenly came from the brunette's coat pocket. She rolled her eyes; it was probably Mycroft, now antsy over the fact that the paramedics couldn't find her.

Another.

Alexandria frowned and continued on down the street, now headed towards her flat. Ignore it, and it will go away.

A third buzz.

Okay, so…3 so far. He couldn't be that worried, it was only Mycroft after all.

A fourth.

Almost home, just hold out till then.

A fifth.

Sixth.

Seven, Eight, Eleven, Fifteen…

That was it. The brunette grabbed the device out of her pocket and clicked the 'message' icon now blinking across screen.

** 6 new Text Messages:**** Open or Ignore? **

'_**Click': OPEN**_

_** First unread Text Message: Sent today at 12:43 a.m**_**.:**** Alexandria, please, stop these childish hide and seek antics and just go with the paramedics. We're trying to help you.–MH**

She scoffed and continued walking. 'Click'

_** Second unread Text Message: Sent today at 12:47 a.m**_**.:**** Alexandria, I have called them off. Now do answer your phone. –MH**

'Click'

_** Third unread Text Message: Sent today at 12:50 a.m**_**.: ****I swear to you, Alexandria, I do not have my brother's phone. Do pick up. –MH**

'Click'

_** Fourth unread Text Message: Sent today at 12:55 a.m**_**.: I see that you are going to be difficult. –MH**

'Click'

_** Fifth unread Text Message: Sent today at 1:01 a.m**_**.:**** Well, Alexandria, I am going to sign off, then. If I see that you are still sending messages to Sherlock's phone, I will call the paramedics again. Next time, I will be sure to send them to your flat. I have warned you. Good night. –MH**

Alexandria rolled her eyes. Really? Was Mycroft _really_ going to be that childish?She glared at the screen. It sure looked that way.

The brunette began to walk again. This entire ordeal was absurd. Why did it matter to him that she still sent texts to one of the only men she'd ever cared for? Why did it matter to everyone that she was having a hard time letting go, moving on? Why did it matter at all? It was her decision, if she would be made to suffer through these days without her detective, then bloody hell she would text him till the day she died, regardless of what everyone else thought.

The brunette rolled her thumb over the keys, prepared to delete their conversation, when an alert suddenly popped up on the monitor.

** 1 unread text message**.

Bloody hell, what else did that git want?

Alexandra sighed and clicked on it, causing the message itself to appear across the bright, LED screen.

_** Sixth unread Text Message: Sent today at 1:07 a.m.: **_**Mycroft does not have my phone, Alexandria. -SH**

Her heart began to pound violently in her chest. "S….SH…." No.  
_'Don't think like that. S….Sherlock is dead. It's…it's probably Mycroft or just someone trying to play a prank, get you to admit that you DO actually need help.'_

'**Click-REPLY'**

'_That's all it is, nothing more. Just a stupid prank, don't start thinking about him.  
Don't get your hopes up.  
He's dead.  
No coming back.  
Stop.  
STOP…_

_Answer.  
Calmly, then turn the phone off.  
That's all.'_

(Sent): **Whoever this is, this is not funny… –A  
**_Delivered: 1:12 a.m._

'**Click'-SEND**

She hadn't even made it two steps before the phone buzzed again.

(Received): **I never meant what I said to be taken as a joke. Mycroft does not have my mobile, Alexandria, I do.-SH  
**_Delivered: 1:13 a.m._

The adrenaline began pumping through her veins.  
_'Maybe…Maybe it was…  
NO.  
STOP IT.  
YOU KNOW HE'S DEAD, YOU KNOW HE'D NOT COMING BACK-JUST STOP.'_

(Sent): **Sherlock…Holmes is dead. I believe you have the wrong number.-A  
** _Delivered: 1:15 a.m._

'_That's it, wrong number. Keep the possibility of it out of your mind, good_.'

(Received): **Alexandria, it's me. –SH  
**_Delivered: 1:16 a.m._

(Sent): **No, it's not. Sherlock Holmes is dead.–A  
**_Delivered: 1:16 a.m._

(Received): ** For the last time no, I'm not, Alexandria. –SH  
**_Delivered: 1:18 a.m._

It was getting harder for her, trying to push the possibility out of her mind. But she had to stay strong, at least till she got to her flat-until she could hide. She decided to laugh the statement off instead.

(Sent): (1 of 2) **Whoever this is, you are not Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes died 3 years ago, after he was forced to jump from the roof of Bart's Hospital building. DEAD, you hear me? I was there, I SAW him, so don't you DARE tell me otherwise! **

(Sent): (2 of 2)** This joke of yours isn't funny, anymore. Stop it, before I report you to the Scotland Yard for harassment and invoking a false identity. –A  
**_Delivered: 1:22 a.m._

'_Buzz-Buzz'_

(Received): **I know this is hard for you to believe, Alexandria, but at least…Wait. Where are you now? Let me prove to you that I am alive. –SH  
**_Delivered: 1:23 a.m._

The tears were beginning to well up again.

(Sent): **You won't be proving anything, I know that Sherlock Holmes is dead. Definitely, infinitely. I was there for the burial, you git! So stop! I know you are lying, whoever paid you to fake his identity-I swear I will make both of you pay if you continue this! SHERLOCK HOLMES IS DEAD!–A  
**_ Delivered: 1:26 a.m._

(Received): **…I'll be at your flat within 5 minutes. –SH  
**_Delivered: 1:28 a.m._

The brunette could feel the familiar streams of water making their way down her face-what was the point trying to hide them anymore?...Why…why would someone have reason to play this cruel joke on her? Hadn't she suffered enough these past 3 years? Didn't people know how much it hurt her, just to say the detective's name? Anderson and Donovan hated her, they could be behind the texts, well…then again, even they-despite their level of hate for both her and Sherlock-wouldn't pull something like this. No, this was too personal, not to mention far too thought-out for their poor feeble brains. So…how, then?

Alexandria sighed and wiped her sleeve over her face, erasing the tears from her cheeks. She was now standing in the alley across from her flat, 114 Loretta Gardens.  
Her heart felt close to bursting now.  
What if he really was in her flat? What would she say to him? What would he look like? Would he still be the same man that he was before or would he be…different? Would he still…talk to her, like he had? Like her? Or would he hate her for all he things she'd said to him? Would he? Would Sherlock really hate her?

NO.

Don't even consider the possibility.

Sherlock's dead, this is a prank, and now you're going home so you can rest it off.  
Nothing more, nothing less.

* * *

A pair of bright blue eyes squinted as they met the darkness of the woman's flat. The furniture and arrangement hadn't changed since he'd last entered; square room, tall mahogany bookshelves encircling the walls, a row of instruments lining one large, church-like window-a small chair and stand now sitting before it; a wooden coffee table, a staircase, two small couches, and a collection of artwork stashed in a corner.

She'd been neglecting her housekeeping, as far as he could tell-at least 50% of the room had a layer of dust on it, and what the dust didn't cover sheet music did; Mozart's Concerto in A, Stamitz Concerto No. 3 in Bb, Beethoven's 9th Symphony-Full Score Arrangements, Bach, Hyden, Handel, Weber, Telemann…Then there were her own creations; all untitled and handwritten-some had even been scribbled on, notes for a creative rewrite or another insertion of a melody-all laying in huge, mountainous stacks along her floor. He untied his scarf and stepped further into the room, treading carefully due to her scattered belongings. Headings from old newspaper clippings were tapped along her walls too, creating a large border around her window, like an old, tattered mosaic.

**"Suicide of Fake Genius: Internet sensation Sherlock Holmes is pronounced dead after committing suicide early Tuesday morning." **

"**Sherlock Holmes: FAKE?"**

"**Moriarty-A hoax created by Sherlock Holmes?"**

He frowned. So the world really did believe him to be fake? It didn't come as a surprise to the long lost detective, of course, but it was more or less…unsettling, considering all of the work he'd done to try and clear his name.

A small cough brought the detective back to his surroundings.

A small, snow covered figure now stood in the doorway-glaring at the shadow on the other side of the room .Sherlock scowled; he couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt upon seeing her face. Her once intelligent blue eyes were drooping from a lack of sleep; her pale skin was stretched over bones and muscles-much too tight for his liking; her lips were quivering slightly-as they would she were nervous or lost in thought-probably the latter.

The detective cleared his throat and took a step towards her. "Alexandria…"

The musician stood at the door, currently unwrapping her many layers of winter dress in trade for what little heat now radiated through the room. "Whoever you are, get out."

Sherlock could feel the edge of his lips beginning to pull into a smile. "Or?"

"I will kill you." She snapped, glaring at the shadow on the other side of the room.

He laughed, he couldn't help it really-considering the fact that she thought he could actually be afraid of her-but out of courtesy; he kept it to a small chuckle. "I've went through all of this trouble just to stay alive, at least long enough to see you once more, and now you say you're threatening to kill me?"

Alexandria took a step back, reaching into her bag for the small pistol she carried. "You're **not** Sherlock Holmes. Get out of my flat."

The detective rolled his eyes, "Must I really prove to you who I am, Alexandria?"

She pulled back the safety and loaded the bullet, ready to take aim. "I'm going to call the police if you don't leave."

Sherlock heard the click of the gun and lifted his hands by his head in defense. "Let me prove it to you."

Alexandria glared into the man's glowing blue eyes. He…sounded like the detective…Had the same build and look too…Maybe…?...No.  
Don't be hopeful.  
"You'll do no such thing. Sherlock's dead, in case you didn't hear. Now leave, or I will shoot you."

The detective, desperate now to reach through to the woman before him, took a step back-trying to uncover himself in the moonlight.

The musician moved quickly, lifting the gun into full-view. "I mean it."

"Look," Sherlock stopped and locked eyes with the barrel now staring down his chest. "Let me show you. If I'm not who I say I am, you can kill me, I won't protest; however, If I am, we-"

She gritted her teeth and made a subtle nod towards the moon rays shining behind him. "If you are, then you can explain to me everything. If not, you can eat a bullet, and explain to D.I. Lestrade who you are and why you're here."

Sherlock grinned and, keeping his eyes on the gun, continued backwards until he felt the glow of the moon illuminating his figure. He didn't say a word, but gazed upon his musician with an intrigued face-gauging her reaction. She looked…Overwhelmed, as he would put it. She didn't say anything; much to his surprise-she just stood there with eyes wide and hands shaking. "Alexandria…."

She felt like falling apart as she heard her long-lost name leave his lips.

"I am Sherlock. It is me, I promise you."

Alexandria shook her head slowly, "No…Sherlock is…dead…"

"I am here, look at me."

Not entirely prepared for the shock she now witnessed, the woman could do nothing but simply stare at the man in awe. That was him. 3 years-3 long, hard years she thought him to be dead, dreamt of him waking her up and telling her it had all been a horrible dream-but now, here he stood; smiling crookedly-like he always had. His pale eyes were measuring her over, judging and taking her in all at once. "What isn't there to believe, Alexandria?" His voice was pulling towards a hint of edginess now. "I am here, aren't I?"

"Y…yes?" The brunette answered his statement with a questionable response-she still didn't believe it herself.

"It is me." He stated, moving towards her once more.

Her heart felt full to burst-she'd been running on fumes all night long, and now this...now, of all times, he was back. "W…why now? Why tell me you are alive now? Why show up…after all this time?" Her voice began to rise. "Why would you show yourself to me? Why didn't you warn us?! I could have helped you? How could you be so selfish?!"

The detective scoffed and pulled out his phone, pointing to the screen. "You call me selfish? That's amusing." He took on a mocking tone, " **'I miss you, Sherlock.' 'Why won't you just admit you are alive, Sherlock?' 'Please, come home, Sherlock.' I miss you, Sherlock.' **What was I supposed to think?! Every day, message after message, I began to…worry, about you? Bloody hell would you just look at yourself?! You look like you haven't seen sunlight in months!" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I've been trying to get rid of Moriarty's blesse'd web-I still need to clear my name somehow, Alexandria. Being 'dead' has provided me with the perfect alibi to search and locate the remaining members of his organizations-but with messages like these," He gestured again to his phone. "How was I supposed to stay away?"

Alexandria dropped her gun, almost falling to the floor; she no longer felt her arms and legs, she just felt an overall weight of guilt. Her heart had calmed considerably-maybe from his cold words? But really, how was she supposed to know that he was alive?…Why did he have to make her feel this way for, well…missing him?

The detective let out a sigh and closed the gap between he and the woman, taking her into his arms. His long trench coat felt cold and foreign against her, despite her many layers of clothes. It still smelled of him-despite all the wear. "I apologize."

And so the flood gates flowed from her eyes, soaking his neck and shoulder. "You could…you could have told me…." She whispered between sobs. "I would have…helped…Anything…."

Sherlock took her face between his hands, locking eyes with the crying woman. "Moriarty was targeting you, Alex. I couldn't take the risk."

She let out a raspy sigh and nestled into the detective's hands, enjoying the feeling of his fingers on her skin. "Still…"

"Stubborn woman…" Alexandria gasped as the detective's cold, marbled lips suddenly came crashing onto hers. Out of all the years they'd known each other, been with each other, they'd never once _**actually **_kissed. Sure he would hold her hand or hug her like he was now, but neither of them really…well, "locked lips."

The detective smiled and moved his hands into her hair, pulling her body closer to him. He'd missed her over the years; missed her smell, her eyes, the feel of her skin against his…Never before had he felt something so…Pure and innocent, like he did with her. Hell, he didn't even know that one person could hold those two divinities anymore-Irene certainly didn't, and neither did any other woman he'd met. The brunette smiled as she pulled away for air, placing her forehead just below the detective's lips. "W…Why…?"

Sherlock already knew the reason behind her question. "I needed to keep you safe…and couldn't stay away any longer…"

She nodded in a pale understanding.

"I am sorry…" He whispered, running his hand through her hair.

"I'm sorry too." She mumbled, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

A few moments of silence passed between the young couple before the detective spoke again. "You know I can't stay here…"

Alexandria's heart tightened at his words. She'd been preparing for him to touch on the subject; she had just been dreading the time when he would finally bring it up. "I know…"

"And you know you can't come with me…" He added, moving so he could look her in the eyes.

"Yes…" She fought back her tears.

Sherlock grimaced. "It will be much shorter this time. I just have a few more things to clear up, at least where Moriarty is concerned… I've already planned on returning before the end of the year," He paused. "To everyone, this time. Mycroft has agreed to help me just before I do so as well, so it will be much easier trying to keep in touch with you."

Hope sparked in the woman's chest. At least he wouldn't leave her for good-at least now she could cling, once again, to the hope that he would return to her. This time, however, he would be able to tell the others as well, making her all the more hopeful. Perhaps his reappearance would help Molly…and John.

"Good." She whispered, planting a kiss on his cheek. "I'll hold you to that."

~ 

* * *

_**AN: Thanks again for reading everyone! :D I hope you likes.**_ _**If there are any questions feel free to leave a review, etc. and I'll answer ^^ Critique and reviews welcome! :D**_

~Aria


End file.
